


The Beginning of a Beautiful Mutual Manipulation, or The Birth of Baby Watson

by orphan_account



Series: Sister Mine [2]
Category: Enola Holmes Series - Nancy Springer, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:44:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1927056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enola gets arrested and solves a crime, and baby Watson is brought into the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning of a Beautiful Mutual Manipulation, or The Birth of Baby Watson

**Author's Note:**

> Enola Song:
> 
> The Ground by Orla Gartland
> 
>  
> 
> Sherlock Song:
> 
> Boats and Birds by Gregory and The Hawk
> 
>  
> 
> Molly Song:
> 
> A Song About A Person On A Train by Tom Milsom
> 
>  
> 
> The Watson's Song:
> 
> Lua by Bright Eyes

She actually ended up adopting a dog.

His name was Jodhpurs and she called him Joddy. He was useless, but good company. Or relatively good company.

Mrs. Tummers was lovely; quite the bustling landlady, though she never asked for rent. Enola might have been able to get away with not paying at all; Tummers was awfully forgetful. 

Pertelote did not ask questions, she got enough runaways in to know not too. 

Mostly the days were normal. Enjoyable, even. 

And then there were days like these. 

******************************************************************************************************************

“OK, I called the ambulance, we need the bag, Mary where is the bag.”

“John calm down!”

“I am calm!”

******************************************************************************************************************

She’d taken to street performing. Painting or drawing; mostly with chalk on the ground, not causing any harm. People could leave money if they wanted. It was only when she was really in need of it that set up an easel and painted people. 

She’d known she could be arrested. She was always careful, hanging around places they weren’t supposed to be, with a lot of people. It was a little strange, and dangerous, but she liked it.

Suppose it was a little late to be thinking that now, though.

******************************************************************************************************************

They’d been here for almost twenty minutes now.

“Something must have gone wrong.”

“Sherlock,” Molly smiles, put down her book, (Lord of The Rings; she told him he had to read it too) and sighs, “Giving birth to a baby can take up to a day, and you know that!”

He paces, anxious, “That doesn’t mean everything is going well.”

She laughs again, pulls at his hand for him to sit down, and begins to read to him.

******************************************************************************************************************

“I was just busking!” she says, almost knocking the red wig off her head.

“Which is a crime without a permit!” the policeman says, again, “And it’s not busking if you aren’t playing a musical instrument or singing.”

Enola sighs, but then an idea strikes her. “When did you start working at Scotland Yard, Detective Inspector?”

The DI looks at her suspiciously, crosses his arms, and says, “’bout four and a half years. Why?”

“Just asking.” Enola sits back, mirroring him by crossing her arms, and begins.

“Do you know Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yes.” The DI says, “Worked with him once.”

She smiles, “What’s your name, then?”

“Ragostin,” she says, narrowing her eyes, “DI Ragostin.”

Her eyes flit over the woman's form, Working all night, big case, needs it solved.

“You have a missing persons case that needs solving don’t you?”

Ragostin looks even more confused, takes a step back.  
Enola rolls her eyes, “My name is Viola Everseau, Scientific Perditorian. I can help you with that.”

******************************************************************************************************************

“I can’t let you on a crime scene, you’re an amateur!”

“So was Sherlock Holmes, once. So were you. It’s your case; one your superior has given you. Need to prove yourself.” 

“It won’t be proving myself if you’re the one solving the case.”

Enola rolls her eyes, “I’m your intern. Unpaid. You’ll take the credit, not a problem. Deal?”

Ragostin takes a deep breath, adjusts her tie, and nods. “Fine. You’ve got ten minutes. If you haven’t found something by then I’m arresting you for unlicensed busking.”

“I thought it wasn’t busking unless you’re singing or playing a musical instrument.”

Ragostin smirks, catches herself, and then leads the way.

******************************************************************************************************************

“Two hours. I have a psychopath to find!”

“Sherlock, calm down.” 

Molly had gone to get coffee, and had ‘swapped shifts’ with Lestrade (the point of the shift being to make sure Sherlock doesn’t go barging into the delivery room). 

******************************************************************************************************************

“I actually can’t believe you just did that.”

“Simple.” She says, “No smart kidnapper leaves hair samples on the chair they ‘tortured’ someone in. Not if they can cover their tracks so no one know they’re kidnapping someone.”  
Ragostin scoffs, “You’re just like him, you know that, Miss. Everseau.”

Enola swallows. “People call me Vi.”

“Alright. Vi. I’ll be calling you again, if I’m allowed.”

She smiles, “Of course. Here”

She hands her one of her cards, “Fashion magazine editor. I thought you were a Scientific Perditorian?”

“I am. I’m also a fashion magazine editor. Currently unemployed.”

Ragostin laughs, pockets her card, and hails a cab for her.

******************************************************************************************************************

“Hooper-Holmes?” an orderly asks the waiting room, “Dr. Watson is waiting for you, room 289.”

Molly smiles at Sherlock, who is suddenly less annoyed and more sick-looking, standing, buttoning his jacket, and walking into the delivery room.

******************************************************************************************************************

His stomach actually drops when he sees her, little, pink, and crying, cradled against a tired looking Mary’s chest.

John is standing next to the bed, looks up at his best friend, “Look at her,” he says excitedly, “I made that!”

“Half of that.” Mary says, “Hold your arms out, Sherlock.”

“What?!” he says, looking at John, then Molly, “No, no, no, I’ll drop her, I’m a p-“

“Shut up, Sherlock, and hold your god-daughter.” John says, smiling at Molly.

“I- What?” Sherlock says, “I’m her… god-father.”

“Yes,” John says, “Of course.”

Sherlock holds his arms out, and Mary places the little girl into them, and his breath shatters.

Molly giggles at his arm, and little baby Watson stops crying to take a look at him.

“What’re we calling her, then?” John asks, smiling at his wife.

“Dunno.” Mary says, “I just gave birth to her, don’t think I’m up to naming anything right now.”

“Sherlock?”

“What?” he says, bouncing the girl in his arms.

“What are we calling her?”

Sherlock looks at his best friend, then to Mary, who nods, and then to Molly, “What do you think?” he says softly, and she smiles.

“You told me once that you were fond of Olivia.”

He smiles, “Yes. Olivia. I like it.”

“I like it too.” Mary says, taking John’s hand, “Olivia Molly Watson.”

“What?” Molly squeals.

“People need to stop saying that.” John says

Sherlock shakes his head, eyes on only his god-daughter and his pathologist, proud and happy and possibly feeling something other than the empty ache that began when he fired that shot at Magnussen, and hadn’t ended when he’d gotten off the plane.

Olivia Molly Watson giggled in his arms, and Molly Hooper smiled.


End file.
